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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and disgusting .
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The risks exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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